Domestic
by Skellagirl
Summary: Chell and Doug spend some quality time with one another, enjoying the fact that they're together, at least somewhat sane, and not dead.


I do not own Portal! I just enjoy writing about these fabulous characters. C:

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><p>Chell leaned back, resting her weight on the curved metal bearings of her boots. Blood pulsed in her ears and her fingers, which were currently gripped hard around the portal gun. The jump in front of her could potentially be very challenging, possibly even deadly, not that that deterred her much from taking it - most of the jumps in Aperture were that way. Still, though, she allowed herself a moment to catch her breath, to plan her route, to calculate her chances of success. They were relatively low, when she got down to the bottom of it, but then she'd never been one for the simple solution, especially not here. "Simplicity" was the very antithesis of Aperture, probably the antithesis of science itself.<p>

She sighed and, with just a moment's preparation, began running full-speed down the long catwalk stretching out in front of her. As she did, she aimed the portal gun in front of and below her, firing it through the grated surface, grinning as a bright blue ring appeared on a single panel floating in the darkness. She picked up speed for several feet before jumping, twisting in mid-air, and firing her second portal onto a distant, white-painted wall far above her head. And then there was nothing but the rush of air all around her, the split-second of passing through the blue portal and being spat out of the orange one, and hurtling through the air with barely enough time to find her feet before landing.

She looked over her shoulder and pushed a stray hair out of her eyes. Not too shabby.

She only had a little bit farther to walk, she hoped. Her forehead was throbbing, probably bruised, although the more pressing injury at the moment was the deep gash on her left arm she'd received while trying to dodge an unexpected turret. She had not only landed wrong, but had grazed an old spike plate that was leaned against the wall on her way down. Her arm had bled quite a lot, and stung for hours, and wrapping her outer tank top around it had only done a little to quell it. It had at least stopped bleeding now, and she was not looking forward to cleaning it. She was just glad she wouldn't have to do it by herself.

It was hard, in a weird, self-conscious sort of way, at least for her, to be away from _him_ for extended periods of time - he was the only other_ living_ human she knew of in the whole facility, after all. But the fact that he didn't have a portal gun, and that it was much too complicated for both of them to use hers, forced them to take different paths through the facility and meet up semi-randomly. It had worked thus far, however thrown-together a solution it was. According to his estimation, they would be running into each other within the next few minutes, and that would be a perfect time for her to tend to her wounds.

She had been barraged with mixed feelings upon first meeting him, torn between thanking The Powers That Be that there was at least one other surviving human besides her in this hellhole, and worrying that he would be a burden to her travels. Her fears were quickly dispelled when she realized who he was, and how he was the one responsible for every single one of the paintings and all the graffiti and the signs she'd come across while exploring. It had been a shock and an honor to finally identify her mysterious guide, something which he'd seemed much more flustered about than her. Soon, however, they struck up a close friendship, helping each other through obstacles that had once proved impassable. He proved himself a valuable friend, among other things, despite all of his quirks. She liked him more than she cared to admit.

The hallway she was in was short and plain, with only two doors to her right, both of which were locked. She paused and leaned against the wall as the pain in her arm flared, causing her grip to weaken; she nearly dropped the portal gun. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. Whether or not she found him, she _would _need to find one of the first-aid stations scattered around. Unfortunately, in true Aperture style, the funding for (Much needed) first-aid had been spent on more dangerous, more insane, more _scientific_ prospects, so the stations were few and far between. Still, if she didn't find one soon she would be faced with a very nasty infection, and that was the last thing she needed.

She left the hall and emerged into a huge room full of equally huge machinery. The catwalk she was standing on was low to the ground, but all the other walls stretched out of sight, hidden behind slow-moving pistons and gears and pipes. She had no idea what all of this was for and there were no signs to tell her. She continued walking. The hum in here was loud and low, and calming as well, not like the hectic buzzing in most other areas of the facility. Far off, she could hear the sound of huge something-or-others slamming together, equally as slow and heavy as everything else here, echoing in the cavernous room. It was rhythmic, calming, almost like music in its own way.

The catwalk stretched on for quite a long time. When she eventually stopped and looked, she couldn't see the door she'd come through or the door in front of her. Just a lot of dim, dust filled air and gleaming metal. At least it wasn't white-paneled test chambers.

She was getting tired, or at least her body was. Her muscles ached and her legs were sore, and she was sure her feet were covered in blisters. It had been a long time since she'd left the last meeting point, and she hadn't stopped walking for more than a couple seconds at a time. The portal gun felt more like a sack of bricks, its fifteen or twenty pounds seeming more like a hundred in her weary arms. She couldn't wait to sleep a little bit.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before the door appeared in the distance, but it managed to raise her spirits significantly. She picked up the pace a little, and soon the drone of the machines was behind her, dampened by the walls of the small room she entered. It seemed to be some sort of briefing room, with signs all over the place stating rules and precautions, and chairs set up haphazardly along the walls. She took a couple steps in, letting the door swing closed behind her—

And collided with something, stumbling back but able to keep her balance because of her boots. Her instincts kicking into high-gear, she pointed the portal gun at the thing she had run into, only to find that it was _him._

He looked as wiry as ever, his big blue eyes focused on her as he pushed himself away from the table he had fallen against. He smiled and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her back and forth.

"Chell!" he cried. She felt most all of the tenseness in her muscles drain away, and what remained bunched up in her stomach in a pleasurable sort of knot.

"Doug," she said. He pulled her into his arms, causing a wave of warmth to rush through her. She would have returned the hug if she could, but regardless of that, it was good to see him again.

The moment was ruined when he bumped her injured arm, causing her to hiss in pain and pull away.

"Are you okay?" he asked, alarmed, and then spotted her blood-stained tank top. He became even paler than he usually was. "What happened?"

She swallowed hard, trying to will the pain away. "I fell… There was a spike plate. I've been looking for a first-aid station, but I haven't come across one yet."

He wiped his hands on the back of his pants, looking around the room with a sudden curiosity. His Companion Cube, as always, was secure in its little harness on his back. She didn't like it very much, but that was only because she was sure it didn't like her, either.

"I think there's one around here somewhere," he said, looking at her, his bony hands on his hips. "I can go and look. Come on, I found a good place to rest." He grabbed her by the wrist and began pulling her the way he'd come.

The walk was short and uneventful, ending when they squeezed through a broken wall and arrived in a small, behind-the-scenes area. It had a short staircase leading up to a door which was probably locked, and there was an old, defunct breaker box on one wall, from the top of which dozens of wires snaked up and disappeared beyond the ceiling. It was dirty and all the surfaces were covered in rust, but it was as good a place as any.

She sat down on the stairs with a sigh. He put his hands on her shoulders again, his skin rough and calloused against hers. "I'm going to go find some first-aid. I'll look for something to eat, too. You rest, okay?" He gave her a pleading look, but it was unnecessary. She did not need telling twice.

"Okay," she said. He looked relieved.

"I'll be back soon," he said, stepping backwards towards the crack in the wall.

"Be careful," she called after him.

"I will be!" He left. She could hear him run past her, and then there was silence.

She didn't like the silence. She hadn't minded it so much before, but now that she had met him and knew what it was like to have real companionship and company, the silence seemed nothing less than oppressive. She looked around. There were some collapsed cardboard boxes in the corner which would probably be converted into a bed later, but that was it. She closed her eyes. She did want to rest, to savor the few moments of tranquility while she still could, but if he was out looking for first-aid and food, she didn't want to sit around and be useless.

Reluctantly, she set the portal gun underneath the step she was sitting on and removed her boots. As she had expected, the bottoms of her feet were torn up and raw. She stood up – the metal floor felt nice even though everything else did not – and headed for the broken wall, peering out of it in either direction before leaving.

The floor out here was nice, too, just drab yellow linoleum that was blessedly cold under her feet. She walked back to the briefing room where she had run into Doug and turned the corner, going through some swinging double doors, passing through some sort of lobby, and arriving in a large office space crammed with cubicles. Her heart lifted.

The doors which she had come through, on this side, read "Authorized Personnel Only", and it struck her that this was probably not as weird a location for these doors as it seemed. Back in Aperture's heyday, the placing of these doors probably made at least some semblance of sense. That's what she hoped, anyway.

The first cubicle she entered had both of the things she was looking for: A computer and a radio. After a couple of minutes wrestling with the mess of cords underneath the desk and almost sneezing her brains out from the dust, she pulled the computer free. It was outdated, but that didn't matter. It would work. She grabbed the radio and set it on top of the computer, along with the power cord for the computer itself, then rummaged the cubicle and its neighbors for anything useful. There were only some newspapers which, although faded and unreadable, were mostly unharmed. There was nothing else. She gathered up her things and began heading back. Her arm was really beginning to smart now, and her grip was more than a little wobbly. She sent a quick prayer to whoever might be listening that Doug would find the first-aid, because otherwise she was going to be in big trouble.

She brought all of the things back to the little den and set them up, dropping the newspapers on the cardboard boxes and placing the radio on the stairs. Carefully, she tipped the computer onto its side and left it alone. Doug would be able to use that. She turned to the radio and pressed the power button. The response was instant, and after fiddling with the knobs for a couple seconds, the room was filled with soft, tinny oldies music. She smiled. At least Aperture had done _something _right in creating all these wireless radios.

She spent the next few minutes arranging the cardboard and newspapers into a makeshift bed, which she then sat down on. She rubbed her knees and shins, trying in vain to ease the soreness. Fed up, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. It felt like her whole body was just one big bruise - even just laying here hurt. She shut her eyes. The music faded in and out, sometimes muffled beyond recognition by static, but for the most part it dutifully remained playing. In any case, it was better than silence.

"Hey, wake up."

There was a gentle hand on her arm, pushing her back-and-forth. Chell shot up, looking around, finding herself face-to-face with Doug. He laughed and stood up. "I found the first-aid." He gestured to the jumble of supplies on the stairs.

"Anything to eat?" she said. He tossed her a can, and she read the black-and-white label. It just said "Soup". Her stomach growled, thankfully quiet enough that he didn't hear. He picked up the medical supplies and joined her.

"We should get you fixed up before we eat," he said. She nodded, then gingerly untied her tank top from her arm. She hadn't looked at her wound since she'd wrapped it up. It was mostly scabbed over, although still a bit ragged and bloody. At least it wasn't deep or severe enough to warrant stitches. He let out a weird noise, somewhere between a sigh and laugh. "I was expecting something worse," he said, rubbing some sanitizer on his hands. It didn't do much, but it had to be better than nothing, right?

"I was, too," she said, examining it. For all the bleeding the stupid thing had done, it wasn't actually all that bad.

He broke the seal on the water bottle that came with the kit (Amusingly labeled "Aperture Science Infection Cleansing Solution"), then unwrapped the tiny bar of soap that Chell suspected had come from a hotel. Without saying anything, he pressed the lip of the bottle against her arm, above her wound, and tilted it so that just a little bit of water came out. She winced at the sharp sting that jolted through her, gritting her teeth. His brow furrowed.

"You okay?" he asked. She nodded. She really did not _feel_ okay, but what was she supposed to say? This had to be done.

"Yeah… Just—keep going," she said. He pinched his lips together and continued, rubbing the bar of soap around the edges of her scratch until it became a lather. It stung even worse than the water.

She spent the entire time – it seemed like hours, when in reality it was just a couple minutes – biting her tongue and being on the edge of letting out a long string of colorful words. She had heard somewhere that swearing helped ease pain, but when it came to that point, then the pain _won_. And she was far too stubborn to let that happen. It was like talking to Her, responding to all Her little quips and insults. That was what She wanted. She _wanted_ Chell to give in and lose her cool, to rant and rave or even just let out a simple "Shut up", but She was never going to get that.

Doug secured the gauze around her arm and then busied himself with the remaining supplies. She turned to face him. He offered her the water bottle, which still had half an inch of water in it, and a small paper packet.

"Ibuprofen," he said. She took them from him, swallowing them as he got up and walked over to the stairs. The computer was already prepared to be used as a makeshift stove, and he had even brought an old pot. He opened the can of soup with a spoon, which was rather amazing to watch, then poured it into the pot. He looked over his shoulder at his Companion Cube, listening intently. She followed his gaze. The Cube was just sitting there in the corner, silent as it always was, but she still felt like it was just staring at her. Judging her. Probably trying to convince Doug that she was a horrible person. It _was_ manufactured by_ Her_, so it almost certainly contained some of the same qualities, right?

Doug turned back to the little pot in front of him, glancing at Chell as he did so. He looked a little sad. She bit her lip, debating on whether or not to ask him what was wrong. Somewhere in the distance there was the sound of something moving, something big, and the radio became overwhelmed with static, and Her voice echoed down through the facility. By the time it reached them, it was no longer understandable, but the cool, underplayed hatred was still evident even this far down. Chell's stomach twisted in horror and Doug became very still, looking up at the ceiling as if that would help him hear better. When everything subsided, the music didn't seem nearly as cheery as before. In fact, it almost seemed to be mocking them with its happiness.

Chell finally found her voice after a long pause. "Can She…"

"I don't know," Doug said, sounding jittery. Again, he turned to look at his Companion Cube for a moment, then resumed stirring the soup. "I think we're okay down here, at least for a couple of hours." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "She's looking for us."

Chell felt a lump form in her throat. She wished he hadn't said that. It was obvious, of course, but it still made her sick to hear it. It was like knowing you had to get a shot, and then actually seeing the needle, only this was on a much, much bigger scale. She crawled over to him and timidly slipped her arm around his, leaning her head on his shoulder. He swallowed, pressing his cheek into her hair, the backs of his fingers brushing over her knee.

They were both so filthy and grimy. There was so much dirt caked into the wrinkles of her hands and caught under her fingernails that she could hardly see her skin. His coat smelled like rust and sweat, and she was pretty sure she didn't smell that great, either, not that it was easy to tell down here where the smell of dank, corroded metal was almost suffocating. She had never wanted a shower so much in her life, even a couple of raindrops from a leaky ceiling to rinse her face off, anything.

She'd missed this, this little slice of life. It was so comfortable that it was nearing domestic. She liked him so much. It even surprised her. He was the only thing in this place that remained constant, that wouldn't suddenly betray her. He'd been a friend from the very start and he had never, ever gone back on that. For that, she was more thankful than he would ever know.

He leaned forward, peering into the pot. "I think it's ready," he said, lifting it off of the makeshift stove and setting it on the floor. She moved away to sit opposite him, and he handed her a spoon.

They ate in peace, with the radio being the only thing to make any noise. The soup didn't taste very good, but at least it was warm, filling, and better than nothing. There was no more clamor from above, to their shared relief, although it was only a matter of time before it would begin again, more furious and frantic than before.

When they were finished, he put the pot and the spoons aside, stretching. She heard a multitude of pops and cracks as he did so. Her focus drifted from him to her belongings, all of which still lay under the stairs. She dreaded to return to them.

_No_. No, she couldn't think about that right now. She had to get some sleep, even if just for an hour. She had to let her body rest and build up strength. Even she, for all her determination, had limits.

He picked up his Companion Cube and brought it closer to the cardboard bed, within arm's reach of where he would be laying. He turned to face her, concern written all over his face. He was aware of her aversion to the Cube, but he had a terrible time trying to sleep without it nearby, and he _had_ tried, so she begrudgingly ignored it.

He pulled her into a hug again, and this time she was able to return it. She wrapped her arms around his back, burying her face in the crook of his neck. That now-familiar feeling of warmth and closeness bloomed in her stomach and spread through her body so fast and strong it almost gave her a head-rush.

"I missed you," she said, shutting her eyes. One of his hands found the back of her head, and he dragged it down her neck and shoulders until it rested on her shoulder-blades. He squeezed her, his body relaxing, rocking back-and-forth slightly.

"I missed you, too." His voice was earnest, and his tight hold on her said everything he was too shy to voice. He was afraid that she might disappear at any moment and that he would be left alone again. Somewhere deep down, she feared the same about him.

Hours apart wouldn't have been so bad in any other circumstances, but not here. Not where every time they parted it was so incredibly uncertain that they would ever see each other again. Not where their respective chances of survival were so slim they could be added together and still not reach fifty percent. Every moment apart was a moment spent hoping the other hadn't fallen into acid, been gunned down by turrets, been hit by an energy pellet, been crushed, choked, incinerated, starved, or otherwise executed. Hours were like days here, and they tended to stack up.

Without a word, he slumped to his side, bringing her with him. She laughed, pressing her face into his slim chest. He slid his hands down her sides, igniting countless sparks in his wake, and she shuddered. His touch was warm, hesitant, fingers ghosting over the bare skin between her shirt and the tied-up jumpsuit around her waist. Readjusting himself, he pulled her closer to him, and set his forehead against hers.

"I'm glad you're okay," he said. She pushed away a little bit and cupped his face between her hands. He sighed, eyes closing, long lashes casting spidery shadows on his cheeks. Gently, she leaned forward and pressed her lips flush against his. There was a moment – a long moment – of pure, sweet, enveloping silence. It was just the two of them. It didn't matter that they were tired, beat-up, and sore. It didn't matter that they were covered in grime and mud. It didn't matter that they might be stuck down here forever. They were together, close, and alive, and for now that was enough.

He kissed her forehead, his whiskers tickling her nose, then rolled onto his back and laid his head down. He was looking up at the ceiling contemplatively. She stroked some of his hair out of his face.

"What do you think it's like out there?" he said.

She licked her lips. She had no idea what it was like outside. She had ideas, of course, but they were all vague and abstract, and she didn't expect any of them to actually be true. She imagined it wasn't much different than when she had left it - maybe a little more dysfunctional and a little less green, but more or less the same. There was also some part of her that wanted it to be completely different, like the utopian future where cars could fly and robots walked the streets (Although, admittedly, she could do without anymore robots for the rest of her life).

"It could be anything," she said at length.

"Do you think anybody has ever tried to come down here?" he asked.

"I hope not," she said. He looked at her inquisitively.

"You don't want to be found?"

"We don't need to be found," she said, feeling a little less certain than she sounded. "We can get out of here just fine on our own. I hope nobody ever stumbles across this place…"

His gaze returned to the ceiling. He shifted underneath her. He looked like he had something to say, but he remained silent. She folded the lapel of his jacket between her fingers, nestling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder. She was so tired. Her body was shutting down, craving rest, giving in to its weariness even if she wasn't altogether ready yet. At this point, the dominant part of her didn't even care anymore.

He said something, quietly, and although she could feel his voice vibrate through his chest, she was too far gone to understand him.

Her first thought upon waking was that she didn't want to get up. She wanted to lay here in his arms and just forget about everything. Forget about _Her_, and testing, and science. Forget about portals, and turrets, and cubes. She just wanted him and the safe little haven that surrounded him, this _something _that resembled normal.

She pushed herself up, rubbing her face. He was still asleep, his head tilted at what looked like an uncomfortable angle. With some effort, she stood up. Her muscles still ached, but not nearly as much as before, and the swelling on her arm had gone down. She stretched, glancing down at the Companion Cube, which just sat there and cast its faint pink glow on the floor around it. She shuffled over to the crack in the wall and leaned against it. There was a weight on her shoulders, the lingering cloud in the back of her mind that insisted on reminding her it was almost time to go. Almost time to leave him and hope she would see him again in the near future.

She heard him gasp, followed by the sound of the newspapers rustling. When she turned, he was sitting up board-straight, looking like he had just been slapped in the face. He spotted her, realization dawning in his eyes as he blinked the sleep out of them. She sat down on the stairs and pulled on her boots, smiling at him. They stared at each other for a couple of moments.

"What?" he asked self-consciously, examining himself. She laughed and shook her head.

"Ah—nothing. I just… um…" She trailed off and looked at the floor, heat climbing up her neck. She wasn't good at this sort of thing. She never had been. After a long pause, he stood up, pulled his Companion Cube into its harness and onto his back, then walked over to her. He touched her knee, and then her wrist, coaxing her onto her feet. She grabbed his paint-stained hands in a tight, trembling grip. It seemed like every time they parted it got harder to say goodbye.

Before she could say anything, he reached past her and pressed the power button on the radio. In one second their little sanctuary, their illusion, disappeared and was replaced by harsh reality. She felt tears spring to her eyes, but she beat them back before they had a chance to become noticeable. She picked up her portal gun, and he led her out to the hallway.

"I think you should go that way," he said, gesturing behind him. It was almost completely blocked off with debris and rubble, something that would be a cinch to pass with portals. "I'll go the other way. The paths are sure to meet up sooner or later, probably somewhere near the old testing tracks."

"Okay. Sounds good," she said, not even able to look at him. She felt like she was going to break down, and she did not like that feeling at all. She hated being vulnerable like this. She hated whenever her emotions got the better of her – it ruined her logical thinking and concentration and everything she needed to not get killed – and whenever she looked at him all she wanted to do was cry.

"Alright, then. I'll see you soon," he said, embracing her.

"See you soon." She leaned forward and kissed him, then, in one quick movement, stepped around him, shot one portal into the very end of the hallway and the other right in front of her, then ran as fast as she could without looking back.

Adrenaline kicked in almost instantly. The shells of the portal gun were cool and smooth in her grasp. Her boots clacked familiarly against the floor with each step she took. The air was cold, invigorating, ruffling her hair as she picked up speed. She wiped her cheek on her shoulder, sniffed, and then poured all of her focus into her surroundings, into soaking up and memorizing every detail as she passed.

She _hated_ goodbyes.


End file.
